


Armored Bodies

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Disability, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recovery, Sensory Deprivation, Torture, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: Erik has come to kill Sebastian Shaw.  He does not expect to find a facility full of teenage prisoners, and a mysterious mutant so powerful he has to be contained underground in a bunker of steel.AU where Erik and Charles meet later, Erik breaks Charles out of a torture chamber, and they try to raise traumatized mutant teenagers to be good citizens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Charles and Erik meet later, and they save each other. I never really understood why Erik would become a eugenicist after those politics killed his mother and his people. I think it's one of those things that's supposed to make us think Malcolm X was too radical or something. Anyway, I think things could plausibly have turned out differently, and I love writing hurt/comfort :3

He has come to the end. 

The facility is in Maine, surrounded by vast stretches of wilderness. In the knee-deep snow, there is no way to approach without alerting the guards. 

This does not matter. He has trained his entire life for this day, and it will be over soon. His work will be done. Baruch Hashem. 

Erik tears the metal gate asunder with a flick of his fingers, and it feels like coming full circle, back to that first day in Buchenwald when Shaw saw him for what he was. Completion. A sign, if he believed in such things anymore. 

An alarm sounds. He tears open the broad bay doors, and out of the white snow he plunges into darkness. He does not need to remove his sunglasses to sense the metal in front of him, and he swallows with the sick swoop of familiarity. Cages. Wire and bars, maybe a dozen of them. All metal locks. 

He flicks them open with such strength that the doors burst open and hang crookedly off their hinges. In the low light, as his vision adjusts, luminous eyes blink up at him. 

“Run,” he tells them, projecting his voice so that he might be heard. It echoes in the cavernous space. “There are vehicles out front.” 

One of the prisoners is limping. She looks very young, and is supported by a boy likely only a year or two older than her. Erik frowns, searches until he finds another young man who appears to be strong, despite the lacerations on his chest. 

“Can you handle the guards?” 

The boy seems to think this is a funny question, nods briefly. “There’s a guy in charge. Whatever you attack him with, he just absorbs it. Channels it back.” 

Erik feels a thrill of adrenaline at the confirmation. “I’ll handle him.” 

A teenager, gangly with youth, is staring at Erik. Bold, direct. Unafraid. 

“My name is Ororo,” she says, chin high, a shock of white hair framing her face. “I’ll make sure everyone gets out.” 

Erik looks to the young man, who raises his hands, palms out. “I can’t control lightning, dude.” 

“You’re,” Erik pauses, looks at them all now. There is a child whose skin is entirely a metallic blue, pointed tail flicking nervously behind him. He has a plastic collar around his neck, LED’s blinking softly in the dark. “All of you?”

“Yes,” a young man smiles tiredly, arms crossed over his chest. “Mutants. We adapt to survive.” 

Erik knew, logically, that there might be others. But he had only known himself to be Shaw’s favorite lab rat, and if Shaw had access to any others, he had no doubt he would have studied them as well. To have so many here, all at once- but he can’t be distracted. 

“Make sure you clear the building,” Erik instructs. “It won’t be safe.” 

There are nods all around. Shaw must have shown them his destructive power, to keep them all so compliant. And if Erik is able- a place like this should not remain standing, cages ready for new victims. 

“There’s another prisoner,” Ororo raises her voice. “We’ve seen them take him to the procedure room. But they keep him somewhere else.” 

Erik feels time slipping away, fears that Shaw will escape him. He feels, though, a deeper certainty that Shaw will be waiting for him. Unafraid of the child that tries to fight him and fails, fails, fails. 

“There are stronger cells, in the basement,” the child with the blue skin says nervously. “I think- they will be keeping him in there.” 

Erik reaches out feels the ground through his feet, the answering vibration of metal below. He nods, and runs toward the staircase. 

“We’ll distract them,” the strong young man says.

“No,” Erik says, sharp and final, turning before he descends. “Do only what you must to get yourselves to safety.” 

“Thank you,” a high voice says, but Erik does not look back. 

The basement is even darker than the wide space of the warehouse floor above, and when he switches on the fluorescents overhead the walls jump bizzarely with flickering light warming to full brightness. He removes his sunglasses, folds them into his jacket pocket. 

Something feels wrong about this darkness, this utter silence. There are no guards down the long hallway, and he feels the slope of the ground underfoot, descending deeper. He can feel the cells now, four solid walls and heavy doors. One of the cells is open. 

The other, when he raises his hand to open the door, makes him hesitate. The thick sheets of metal beneath the concrete walls sing to him, tightly welded so that there are no gaps, not even a pin sized imperfection. The door is sealed shut, metal folding over metal. 

Even now, after all the killing he has done, easily, effortlessly, he cannot leave this man to die in this tomb. He is the monster that Shaw made of him, but he is not his creator. 

Erik rips out the heavy metal door, pulling it through to smash into the hall. Light floods into the space- it is dark too, the overhead lights completely off. The man inside grimaces, covering his eyes with a hand. 

Erik stands his ground, prepared to either get out of the way or fend off an attack. 

Neither happens. The man sits calmly on a bench, eyes now watching Erik through his fingers. There is a metal helmet that covers his head and rests on the ridge of his brows. Erik can feel where it has been locked, tight to the skin. 

“Hello,” the man says, soft British accent making Erik blink. He is almost disarmed- but he cannot rely on his usual means of assessing threats, not here. And whatever this man is, he does not appear to be afraid. “You’re not with Shaw,” the man states. 

“No,” Erik agrees. 

“Have you come to take me instead?” 

“I’m here for another purpose,” Erik replies. “You’re free to leave. The others may be waiting for you.”

“The kids Shaw took?” the man’s lips part, and he looks toward the ceiling. And how odd, to have such thick metal on a ceiling this man has no ability to reach. He pushes himself to stand, and Erik notices an odd, jerky motion as he moves forward. “They’ll need help.”

“They seemed rather capable,” Erik notes.

The man stumbles and falls, legs giving out beneath him. Erik steps forward automatically to grab him, hand reaching out for his arm- 

The man’s bright blue eyes look up into his, and Erik feels it with a shock of fear- thoughts that are not his own. Feelings that are not his- pain, deep in his muscles and the bright, piercing light-

“I’m sorry,” the man says softly, and Erik opens his eyes. He hadn’t remembered closing them. “I had to be certain.” 

Erik stumbles away, and the man leans into the door jamb to hold his body up, legs still trembling. “What did you do to me?” Erik flings out a hand to anchor the metal helmet, hold the man’s body steady. 

“I’m a telepath,” the man says. “I read your intentions.”

“Don’t,” Erik growls, “ever try that again.” 

“I have no need,” the man says. “I know you’re here to kill Shaw. I know how he’s tormented you. I understand.” 

Erik bites back the swell of anger at this, the audacity of such a statement. “Then you understand I have to kill him. Today. Before he has the chance to torture any more of our kind.” 

The man watches him for a moment. “I want to disagree. I don’t believe killing brings peace.” He sighs. “But Shaw cannot be allowed to roam free. And any human prison wouldn’t,” he looks at the walls of his cell. 

“Can you walk?” Erik makes the decision at once, unwilling to waste any more time. 

The man supports himself against the wall as he steps out of his cell, grimaces as his legs tremble violently at these small movements. “Not as such.”

Erik wraps his arms around the man’s waist, supports the weight of his body. “Put your arm,” Erik tugs, and the man wraps his arm around Erik’s shoulders. He reeks of sweat, and pants with the exertion of the rapid pace. The man flinches away from the brighter fluorescents at full power down the hall, and Erik pulls his sunglasses from his coat pocket. 

The man sighs in relief when he puts the glasses on. 

“What’s the helmet for?” Erik asks as they march down the hall, legs moving in concert. 

“To control my power,” the man gasps as they ascend the stairs. “With it on- only if I’m touching someone- and then there are, drugs-“

“I see,” Erik reaches out, and the clasp falls open with a loud click as they reach the top landing. “For whatever advantage it might bring you,” Erik levitates the helmet and tosses it across the warehouse floor with a clang. “It’s not far from here,” he points to the bay doors. “Clear the building as quickly as you can.” He gently disentangles the man so that he leans heavily against the wall. 

The man shakes his head. “I’m coming with you.”

Erik turns to leave, and feels the tentative brush against his mind, now that he can name it. Not pushing like before. _He will kill you._

“That was always a possibility,” Erik continues moving away, heading deeper into the facility. 

_Your plan has little margin for error. Shaw will not stand idly by as you kill him slowly. And his mutation will not allow you to end it any other way._ Erik hears the man’s huffed breaths behind him as he struggles to follow. “I can help you.”

Erik turns, exasperated. “You will slow me down. You’re hardly in any condition-“

A smile transforms the man’s face, genuine and startling. “I know you don’t mean to condescend, but do you really imagine they would keep me in an underground bunker if they were not afraid of what I might do?” 

Erik pauses at this. The way the man read his mind was disturbing enough, but that in itself does not constitute the magnitude of the threat his prison implied. 

“I can lead you to him,” the man says, just as his legs give out. 

*

“Right,” the man pants, nearly all of his body weight leaning into Erik’s side. Erik wonders why he is so weak; muscles might atrophy after so little opportunity for exercise, but that does not explain the odd, jerky gait. He remembers being drugged by Shaw, the way it made him weak. 

“That’s not it,” the man says. “Well, partly. I may be in withdrawal. I think they gave me an elephant’s dose of barbiturates. But I’m afraid the problem is more serious than that.” He taps at the messily cropped hair of his scalp, where Erik can see a fresh line of black stitches wrapping around his ear, pink scarring in a thick line on his crown. “My legs are uninjured. But my brain is sending faulty signals.” 

Erik notices it now, the slight twitch in the man’s fingers as he points. 

“Brains are very flexible,” the man says, and it feels as if he’s saying it more for Erik’s sake than his own. “Neuroplasticity is greater in the very young, but there’s still some hope for increased functionality.” 

_Professor,_ Erik thinks, and the man laughs. It seems that he always laughs a bit when he smiles, and Erik can’t help but notice the warmth in it. The exposed scalp makes his features bare, eyes wide and bright. 

“Yes, actually,” the man says. “Columbia. I teach human genetics.” 

Erik snorts. 

“A bit on the nose, yes.” The man pauses. “Shaw’s moving.” He presses two fingers to his temple, looks off into the distance. “He’s- he’s coming to us. He’s alone.” 

Erik feels his mind go calm, adrenaline pushing his body to move, prepare. He steers the man into an open room. “You can still turn back.” 

The man shakes his head, sits in a chair with fingers still pressed to his temple. “Shaw had to surprise me to incapacitate me the first time. He will not be able to do so now.” 

Erik nods, leaves the room and heads down the hall, pausing at the door. He reaches out to feel the metal beams in the floor and ceiling, heavy structural support columns for bearing industrial loads. From an open pocket he levitates a small coin, grasps it to feel the coolness of the metal in the palm of his hand. 

The door opens, and Erik is not prepared for the raw panic that hits him when he sees Shaw for the first time in a decade, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision has gone sharp, focused on Shaw’s wide smile. He associates this with the wall of bone saws, a metal table- we have to look deeper- 

_Erik,_ a voice brushes against his mind, feather-light. _Calm your mind._

“Mein schatz,” Shaw extends his arm. “You’ve come back.”

Erik pulls broad support beams to smash through concrete and drywall, exploding into the hallway in front of him to form an X. He doesn’t strike Shaw; it’s simply a barrier. 

Shaw laughs, and the action seems childish, futile. “Very good, Erik. I’ve heard the reports, but it’s so much better to see you in person. You’ve grown so strong.” Shaw steps forward, until he’s face to face with Erik. “And you’re just starting to scratch the surface. Think how much further we could go, together. I don’t want to hurt you, Erik. I’ve always done what you needed, to make you stronger.” 

Here, in this moment, looking into Shaw’s eyes and knowing him and wholly and intimately as Erik does, it’s clarity. It’s the first time the world has made sense in a very long time. “Everything you did, made me stronger. Made me the weapon I am today. It’s the truth. I’ve known it all along. To be weak is to be conquered. My mother was weak. Human.” Erik lets the coin flip through his fingers. He takes hold of the beams in the wall behind Shaw. “I will not be,” Erik thinks of this coin on the table, how he struggled to move it. How simple a task he failed. Failed his mother, his people. “Never again.” 

The beams slice through the walls behind Shaw, and he darts out to take hold of them, glowing with kinetic energy as they slow. Shaw was not fooled by Erik’s fear; he saw half of the trap, and was prepared. Erik has seen this before, the red tinge of energy glowing bright around Shaw’s skin, ready to explode. There will be nothing left of Erik’s body. 

_So this is how it ends,_ Erik thinks, a thousand images of his failures playing through his mind. _I wasn’t strong enough._

But Shaw does not move forward to release the energy; it dims as it fades from him. Erik feels a dull fear- maybe Shaw means to take him alive. He would rather die. 

Shaw’s face is frozen in a rictus, eyes wide. 

_ERIK! NOW!_ the telepath shouts, and Erik feels his heart pound all at once. _I can’t hold him much longer-_

“Mein gott,” Erik breathes in wonder, but he does not hesitate. If he fails, many others will suffer the consequences.

The coin spins slowly into Shaw’s forehead, so little motion that the energy passes through Shaw’s skin, bloody stigmata dripping down his face. 

Erik can see Shaw’s rapid breathing when the metal pierces his skull, the terror in his eyes as the bone splinters and gives way. 

There is an awful, agonized scream behind him, and Erik turns on instinct. 

_God, please, please-_

Erik pauses, the coin embedded in Shaws skull.

 _No! Finish it, quick-_

Erik can hear the telepath’s shuddering breaths down the hall, terror and a gasped sob of pain. He should have known- of course he would sense everything as Shaw felt it. But then, the telepath saw clearly his intentions. He must have known this was inevitable, and insisted he come anyway. 

Erik pushes the coin deeper, steady through the screams of pain, through Shaw’s eyes staring into his. All those years of torment. Praise, rewards, punishment. Shaping him in Shaw’s image. Mein schatz. He wonders if Shaw thought it was love. 

The coin breaks through bone again, and Shaw’s body falls. The bloody coin hovers for another moment, then clatters to the ground at Erik’s feet. He bends down to look at it, does not look at Shaw’s body. He does not feel what he thought he would feel. Perhaps this is because he thought he would be dead. It does not seem like something this monumental can happen at his hands without consequence. 

Shaw’s body on the floor is broken, at odd angles, eyes unseeing. 

Eventually, Erik registers that the screaming has stopped. The telepath is crouched against the wall for support, nearly crawling. 

“Erik?” 

Erik eyes him. He looks even worse for the wear, if possible. He is trembling with exhaustion, face ashen and eyes red. 

“The young people are waiting for you,” the man extends a hand. “I’ve told them we’ll be there shortly.” 

Erik only stares. Anger had fueled him to this point, helped him survive, claw his way forward day by day. He’s done now. This is the end. For Shaw, for him.

“Erik, you’re in shock,” the man touches his shoulder. “Come with me,” he says, and Erik feels a strong compulsion to follow. Not his own. 

“Get out of my head,” Erik shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stands. 

“I apologize,” the man says. He’s watching Erik carefully, with such naked compassion that it makes Erik want to hurt him. 

The man flinches, and Erik immediately feels chagrined. 

“I’m sorry, I’d never- I’m not used to this.” Erik bends down to help him stand, supporting his weight while he walks. 

“I don’t normally- my sister, Raven, she abhors it when I read her mind. Forgive me, I’m having a bit of trouble being polite at the moment.” 

“I would have failed without it,” Erik allows. “I’m grateful.”

They move slowly now, no need to force him past the very last of his limits. “I saw some of Shaw’s mind,” he says, and Erik tenses. “Not of you. How he thinks. ‘Survival of the fittest,’ and all that. Mutation to create a stronger race. Poor pedagogy.”

Erik had questioned many things about Shaw, but it had never been this. He has seen it, knows it to be true. The strongest survive. The weak suffer and die. 

“Not that it doesn’t have some kernel of truth,” the telepath pauses for a moment to catch his breath. “But it’s a rather self-serving interpretation. Mutation is- random. Sickle cell anemia is a mutation. Even an adaptive one, at that. To fight off- malaria,” he continues doggedly forward. “But it hardly makes people stronger. What made Homo Sapiens so successful was not their impenetrable skin or speed or, physical strength. It was their sociability. Their ability to form groups, to learn and share knowledge for their collective survival. They cared for the young and sick, old and injured.” 

“Mm,” Erik peers into the loading bay, feels the metal cages again, the familiar rage pouring into him, making him strong. 

When they step outside into the bright snow and sharp air, Erik feels as if he’s woken up all at once, come back to himself. He can see the young people waiting by the cars.

“Alex tells me that one of the guards was a teleporter, and left with one other,” the telepath reports, fingers pressed to his temple. “A man who can create tornadoes- but it seems Ororo wounded him.” 

Erik leaves the man with the others and turns back to the building. There’s one thing he has left to do. 

When he strides back into the loading bay, he flings out his hands so the cages go first, crumped into balls like tissue paper. He reaches deep into the labs, familiar instruments of torture, melts the saws and the scalpels and the needles. He sends the metal tables ricocheting to break glass, tear plaster from the walls. It isn’t enough. 

He feels the support beams tremble under his power, rooted deep within the concrete. He wants to tear them from the ground, deep beneath the earth and atop a granite foundation. The walls around him quake. He feels so heavy. He pushes harder, harder- he cannot fail. He can be stronger, he’s certain he can-

 _Erik,_ the telepath’s voice is firm. _You have to let go._

 _I have to do this,_ he thinks. If this facility stands, it will haunt him forever. A part of Shaw, still alive. 

_He’s dead, Erik. He’s not coming back._

Erik realizes he has sunk to the ground, knees on the concrete. The entire behemoth of a building is rocking back and forth. He can feel that the laboratories are melted, shattered, irretrievable. 

The telepath shows him an image- a huddled group of young people, frightened and sick. _I’m really in no state to drive_

Erik leaves the building behind, leaves Shaw’s body. He doesn’t feel lighter; he doesn’t feel at peace. He doesn’t know who or what he is now. But he is something new. 

“Where are we taking them?” Erik blinks as he steps back into the sunlight, looking doubtfully at the small crowd of young people that the telepath is sitting down amongst. 

“Some of the older ones have families and lives to return to. But-“ _Perhaps half of them are no longer wanted by their families. It’s how Shaw found them- on the streets. Vulnerable._

 _So we have to turn them over to social services,_ Erik feels a pang at this. It seems wrong, to give these mutant teenagers to humans who will likely fear them, teach them to suppress who they are. But there is no alternative. 

The telepath smiles again, that small laugh accompanying it. Erik finds that he likes it, the quick flash of teeth and the easy way the humor reaches his eyes. 

“Actually, I had sort of been preparing for something like this, before I became a little too curious where children were disappearing to and got myself captured. I never expected this would be where that particular idea took me, but that’s what happens when the universe sees you making plans.” 

Erik opens a car door with a flick of his fingers and starts the ignition. 

One of the young men from before approaches them. “Driving is what I do. I don’t mind taking the others, finding a bus station.”

The telepath nods at him. “Good luck, Darwin. And if you or any of the others want, you are always welcome. 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Westchester. Just look up Charles Xavier.” 

Darwin nods. “I just might.” He waves goodbye to the teenagers, gives them both a parting look.

Erik levitates another car over, suspension high off the ground and thick snow tires. He places it down gently, opening the door and turning the ignition. 

“After you, Professor,” he gestures, and feels warmed when Charles laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cw: medical trauma, self harm

“Only a couple more miles,” Charles squints at what appears to be another repeating stretch of rolling hills. 

The congestion of the New York interstate gave way to suburbs, white mailboxes growing gradually further and further apart. Now there are only private drives that turn to homes just barely visible from the road. 

Charles points up ahead. “There. Just turn into the drive- you’ll have to press the button on the gate to signal Raven.” 

Erik pulls up to the elaborate ironwork and gives Charles a look. 

Charles winces. “Do we have to have this talk just now? Yes, I realize it’s absurd. But I’m also quite tired.” 

“You grew up here? Such hardship, Charles. I don’t know how you survived.” 

Charles gives him a wan smile. 

“Is this your house?” Ororo’s head pokes up between the front seats to get a better view. 

“I think it will be our house now,” Charles replies. 

Charles had called Raven from a pay phone in Maine, and Erik had been able to hear her shouts through the phone from several feet away. 

Erik opens the gate easily without damaging it, and Charles laughs as it swings open. 

They drive for another minute before they are able to see the house; even Erik has to admit that this is ideal for keeping mutant children from prying eyes. 

Erik pulls into the driveway, gets out of the car to help Charles stand, and stares at the mansion for a long wordless moment. He is not used to being surrounded by this opulence, except in the homes of men he has hunted. 

The teenagers are a mix of a sudden burst of energy and desperate attempts to look too cool to be moved. 

The front door flings open, and an entirely blue woman comes running down the steps. “CHARLES!” she shouts, and flings herself onto him, which nearly knocks Erik off his feet. 

“Oof,” Charles exhales, wrapping and arm around the woman and pulling her into a hug. “Gentle, Raven, I’m on the mend.” 

She starts sobbing, to Erik’s consternation, and he looks away. 

“We looked everywhere for you. It’s been almost a year, Charles. We thought-“ she clings harder, and Charles pats her back. 

“I missed you too,” he says softly, and in pointedly looking away Erik notices a man standing in the door, staring at them. He too is entirely blue, but covered in fur seemingly over his entire body. 

Erik helps Charles slowly up the stairs with Raven, and the teenagers dart past them. 

“Hello, Hank,” Charles says. 

“I knew you’d come back,” Hank says, reaching out to clasp Charles’ shoulder. “I never stopped working, on that thought you had. Cerebro. I’ve made a prototype- I think it’ll work.”

Charles draws Hank in and gives him a firm hug. “I’m sure it’ll be splendid.”

“Yeah,” Hank wipes his eyes. “Though it doesn’t look like you had any trouble finding our students.”

“Chance and luck,” Charles says, smiling at Kurt, whose tail is flicking side to side as he stares and Raven and Hank’s bright blue bodies. “These ones eat like teenagers. You didn’t happen to go to the supermarket, did you?” 

Raven grins down at Kurt. “Costco.” 

Charles’ sister and her boyfriend seem reluctant to let Charles out of their sight at the dinner table, but all too soon Charles is nodding off into his pasta. 

“I’ll have to find a discrete construction crew,” Charles muses as Erik all but carries him up the stairs. “Install a lift.”

“I’m sure you’ll be well enough soon,” Erik says, turning left when Charles points. 

“Of course,” Charles says, looking distracted. “In the morning, the first thing we should do is contact the parents. Arrange to meet them in person, if possible. We’ll have to be sure to make some materials about the school. In any case, most of the children are old enough to file for emancipation, if needed-“ 

“Charles,” Erik says, depositing him atop a four poster bed. “Worry about it in the morning.”

“There are plenty of rooms, the children can make decisions among themselves as they wish. Raven will know where to find towels, though I’m not certain about toothpaste-“

“I’ll make sure nothing catches fire overnight,” Erik cuts him off, amused. “No need to create trouble.” 

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” Charles agrees with a jaw cracking yawn. 

Erik squeezes his hand. “Too true, my friend. Rest well.” 

That night, Erik sleeps deeply but restlessly, and wakes with the bright morning sun to an echo of whispers in his mind. 

*

Erik grows increasingly angry over the number of parents who are willing to sign away their child to a place they have never been. 

“It does make our job easier,” Charles says, placing his hand over the phone’s receiver. Columbia has been repeatedly startled by his continued existence and has put him on hold five times in the past hour. 

“I know what it’s like to know no one in the world truly cares for you. That you’re completely alone. No safe place to land when you stumble.”

Charles reaches out to touch him, fingers brushing over the back of his hand. “They are not alone.” He stills and his tone changes. “This is he. Yes, I’ll be taking some time to recover. I’m hoping by next semester I might be able to commute to teach once per week. Yes, I’ll hold.” 

Raven drops by to sit with Charles, head leaning on his shoulder as he strokes her hair. She badgers him to let her make an appointment, arguing about the urgency. 

“I’ll have to attend physiotherapy for at least the next year, I’m sure,” Charles says. 

“You need to see a specialist, Charles! You’re hurt! You can’t waste time- whatever they need to fix-“

“Raven,” Charles says gently, tugging her upright, “it isn’t urgent. I doubt there’s anything they can fix.”

“You don’t know that,” she says stubbornly. “You think you know everything, Charles, but you’re a geneticist, not an MD-“

“Alright,” Charles says placatingly. “I’ll make an appointment.”

“Today.” 

“I’ll make the appointment today,” Charles qualifies. 

“Next available,” Raven says. “I’ll drive you.” 

“I need you and Hank to watch the mansion,” Charles shakes his head. 

“I’ll drive him,” Erik cuts in. 

“Fine,” Raven stands and leaves the room. 

“She’s upset,” Erik observes. 

“Oh, heaven forbid,” Charles frowns down at the phone, which has had a steady stream of muzak for the past half hour. “It’s not as if her brother got taken for a year and came back a cripple.” 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Erik says. 

Charles looks at him. “I am. I might as well-“ he pulls the phone back up to his ear. “Hello, Diane. Yes, I’m quite well. It’s so good to hear from you.” 

They do nothing but sit and make calls and fill out forms all day, and by the evening Erik is restless. The teenagers have had fun pelting one another with snowballs on the grounds, showing off their mutations with wild abandon as they teleport behind battlements and flit invisibly through the trees. 

Erik notes that they’re a bit undisciplined, but Charles waves this off. 

“Let them be children, for a moment. They’ll be busy soon enough.”

“What do you plan on teaching them?” Erik watches Kurt help Raven slice bell peppers as Ororo spices the beans. 

“Standard curriculum, things they will need in the world. Set them up for success as much as possible. We’ll be working with some gaps, I’m sure. Science, history, english, maths. Why, do you have a preference?”

Erik startles. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Him, teaching? 

“I’m sure you’ll do well at it. What about languages? I’ve heard you think in at least three.” 

Erik nods. “I’m fluent in German, French, and Polish. I’m decent in Portuguese and Ukranian, passable in Russian. And,” he hears his own defensive tone. “Hebrew, Yiddish.” 

Charles smiles. “That’s marvelous, Erik. Quite the polyglot.” 

“I had to learn,” Erik replies. 

After dinner, Charles has fallen asleep on the couch, his head resting on Raven’s hip. Erik paces the room, staring up at the tall bookshelves. Most of these appear to be for show, which surprises him. Though the books in Charles’ study seemed well-loved. He supposes Charles’ parents might have placed these here, the bound periodicals a show of status. 

He’s lost in idle thought when the pain hits him, an aching in his chest so strong that he doubles over, fears he’s having a heart attack. 

“Charles,” Raven says sharply, and Erik turns to look at her. She’s wincing, a fist pressed to her chest. 

Charles blinks awake, and the sensation of pain recedes. Erik briefly hears a whisper- _what’s wrong with him, why is he-_

“Sorry,” Charles says. “Bad dream.” 

Raven looks at him in concern, but Charles gives her a look, and she looks around at the teenagers and smiles. “He’s fine. Used to do this to me all the time when we were kids.”

“This is why we must take the power we have very seriously,” he says, sitting up. “Not to be afraid of it, but to make our own decisions about how we want to use it. So that it does not control us.” 

The teenagers are all watching him quietly, their full attention captured by his words. 

“I’d like you all to think of what goals you have for your abilities over the next couple days. How will you use what you have been given? What are you most afraid of? Erik, Raven, Hank and I will pair with you to work on these goals.”

 _Smooth, Charles,_ Erik thinks. 

_Yes, I excel at the teachable moment. Do as I say, not as I do, and all that._

They all play a round of Monopoly, and the teenagers trickle away until Charles and Erik are left alone, a game of chess between them. 

“I think I will need to hire more teachers. Think up a sustainable business model. I haven’t set tuition yet with any of the families who’ve been in touch, but of course if I do standardize it will be sliding scale-“ 

“You haven’t even asked me if I’m staying,” Erik notes, moving his pawn forward. 

Charles pauses, pawn in hand. “Are you? Staying?” 

“Yes,” Erik nods. “I think so.” 

He doesn’t look up to see Charles’ laugh. It might ruin his composure. 

*

The next morning, Charles thanks Kurt and Erik for breakfast, and looks around the room in his usual tally of heads. “Where’s Hank?”

“He’s been in the lab all night,” Raven says through a mouthful of eggs. 

“Hmm,” Charles looks intrigued. “Perhaps it’s time I visited the lab anyway.” 

The walk down to the basement is slow and painful, Charles gritting his teeth as the muscles of his back tighten into spasm at the demand for movement. He tries to shrug off Erik’s help, but Erik is unmoved. 

When they enter the lab, Charles freezes at the large metal object Hank is crouched over.

“It’s just a prototype,” Hank says, words spilling from him as he pushes the chair forward. “I’ve been thinking, some of the work I’ve done with Cerebro might be compatible-“

“Yes,” Charles says quickly, cutting Hank off. “Thank you, Hank. It’s very thoughtful of you.” 

He looks as if Hank has handed him a basket of snakes, but Hank does not seem to notice. He flushes. “It’s not a big deal.” He taps the tip of the arm rests. “Electrical conductance. There’s an amplifier in the body of the chair. I can train it to recognize certain signals, so that a thought from you might tell it to go forward, or back, or to stop-“

“Incredible engineering,” Erik agrees. “Do you think you could give Charles a moment to try it out?” 

Hank nods excitedly, watches them. “If you want to work on the calibration-“ 

“Maybe later,” Erik says before Charles can speak. “Could we have a minute?”

“Oh,” Hank’s eyes go wide. “Of course, yes,” he nearly flees the room.

“Thank you,” Charles says faintly, collapsing into an office chair and looking away from the wheelchair in the center of the room.

“He’s not the most perceptive,” Erik observes. 

“He means well, and he’s genuinely kind,” Charles replies. 

“Do you need some time to yourself?” 

Charles shakes his head. “The last thing I need is to be allowed to be maudlin. I have far too many things that needed to be done yesterday.” 

Erik shrugs noncommittally. “So you’ll take the wheelchair?” 

Charles looks over at it. “Can I admit something?” 

Erik looks at him, the silence giving him permission. 

“It’s not that I don’t know- I’m well aware of my condition. I’m not being fatalistic. I think I might regain some function. And I’ll be glad to have a useful mobility aid. I don’t relying on having people carry me around everywhere.”

“But,” Erik says. 

“I’m used to being independent. Pride, I suppose. No one is truly independent.”

“You’re afraid,” Erik surmises. 

Charles sucks in a breath. “Yes. It’s completely irrational- I feel as if, if I take the chair, I’m conceding something. Giving up.” 

“That is irrational,” Erik says. “You said yourself you’ve got at least a year of physical therapy ahead of you. This doesn’t stop that from happening.” 

“That’s- actually quite reassuring,” Charles sighs. “I’ll be fine. I just need some time to adjust.”

“You won’t be alone,” Erik says. 

Charles gives him a searching look. “Thank you, Erik.” 

Erik wheels the chair over to him. “I can levitate you up the stairs for now.” 

“We can work on scheduling the construction crew. The school ought to be accessible, regardless of what condition I am in.” 

“Of course,” Erik agrees. 

*

They start working with the children individually on their goals, Erik paired with Ororo, whose will is as strong as his own, and Charles with Kurt, who is shy and flourishes with encouragement. 

_They need to be prepared to defend themselves,_ Erik thinks to Charles one morning while Ororo works to turn falling snow to hail. 

_Yes,_ Charles replies. _I agree. But not as soldiers. Not as weapons._

 _Never,_ Erik thinks at once, knows Charles can feel him recoil. 

_They need to know they are cared for as individuals. For their everyday struggles. They are teenagers, after all._

_You’ll have to tell me how one raises teenagers._

Charles laughs out loud. _I haven’t a clue. Raven and I raised ourselves._ “Well done, Kurt!” Charles praises as the boy pops back into existence in front of them. Kurt stands a little straighter, tentatively smiling in response to Charles’ grin. “Now, when you visualize the boundary of the school-“ 

Erik brings Charles to physical therapy every other day. He has been unfailingly cheerful and optimistic to not only Erik and the rest of the household, but even to his physical therapist, whom he seems to have thoroughly charmed. 

The neurosurgeon has offered an exploratory removal of scar tissue if Charles’ condition does not improve in a few months, but Erik already knows that Charles is not considering it. 

That night, Erik dreams of whispers in his mind, anxiously reaching towards him only to be swept away like ghosts when he wakes in the morning. 

*

When they came outside to practice with the children on their third day, Ororo had swept all the walkways free of snow.

Charles wheeled down the newly installed ramp, attention obviously drifting as Kurt attempted a rapid series of precise teleportations. 

“Just because Shaw is dead doesn’t mean others might not come for us,” Erik broke the silence. 

“Mm?” Charles turned to face Erik, chair moving in concert with his mind. “Yes,” he reflected. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility.” 

_Inevitable,_ Erik thought. “We ought to train, as well.” He’d felt increasingly edgy for reasons he couldn’t explain- a deep certain feeling that he was not safe. The children were not safe. Nowhere was safe.

When he rationalized this line of thought, he attributed it to a fear of complacency. It would be all too easy to forget a world existed beyond these grounds. 

Charles gave him his full attention at this, and Erik felt now that he could identify that brush against his mind, just skimming the surface. 

“Yes, I agree.”

This felt easier, somehow, than Erik had anticipated. “But?” 

The corner of Charles’ mouth ticked up. Not quite a smile. “It would be difficult to test the limits of my power. Ethically.” 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “What tricks have you been thinking up, Charles?” 

Charles didn’t answer for a moment, looking back out at Kurt and Ororo. “I caused a boy to fall into a coma once, when I was thirteen. He was a bit of a bully, tried to attack Raven.” He sighed. “He woke two weeks later. I was very lucky.” He looked sideways at Erik. “I convinced an entire lecture hall that I’d been there the entire time when I came in late with a nasty hangover. I thought it was benign at the time, but as specious as the slippery slope argument can be, I still imagine- where is that invisible line? Clearly I have access to the brainstem, to have made someone fall unconscious- but what about respiration? Heart rate? I feel certain I could cut off someone’s breathing. How many could I kill at once? I’ve never felt that I’ve exhausted my power. Could I control anyone’s mind to do my bidding? The president’s?”

Erik should feel fear, he thinks. Power has always been wielded against him, and he has lived by the doctrine that he must be strong. Survival of the fittest. 

He studies Charles in his wool hat and mittens, calmly considering the extent of his power, and feels excitement. This man is his equal. He feels drawn to him, fascinated by what he can do. What they could do, together. 

Charles, seeming to read this, gives him a long, shrewd look. 

“There is always the option of being Hank’s lab rat,” Erik replies dryly. 

Charles looks away. “Yes, I ought to test Cerebro.” 

He looks as if he’d rather eat a lemon, and Erik laughs. “I’ll volunteer to go first, professor. You might stall, for another day.” 

Charles looks intrigued. “What did you have in mind?” 

*

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Erik grins, facing the barrel of the gun.

“Got it.” Charles puts his finger on the trigger, grimaces, and shakes his head. The barrel of the gun lowers to the ground. “No. No, I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t shoot anyone point blank, let alone my friend.” 

“Oh, come on,” Erik complains. “You saw me at the facility. You know I can deflect it.” 

“If you know you can deflect it, you’re not challenging yourself!” Charles scolds, and Erik feels absurdly like an errant schoolboy. Charles flicks the safety on the gun and sets it in the pocket of his chair. He glances out over the grounds. “What happened to the man trying to level a warehouse?” He points to a large satellite dish at the far end of the grounds, and Erik takes his meaning at once. 

“Something that big… I can’t,” Erik admits. “At the warehouse, I had the situation, the anger.” 

“Then the anger is not enough,” Charles observes. 

Erik feels affronted, at this. “It’s gotten the job done, all this time.” It’s no small thing, what he’s done. Who he’s tracked, killed. The coin piercing through Shaw’s brain. 

Charles flinches. “It’s nearly gotten you killed, all this time. Anger has its place- it motivates us to action. But it also leads to brash impulse.”

“Suddenly you’ve become a psychologist as well,” Erik remarks, and is surprised to see Charles flush. “Really?” 

“It’s fairly common to get a bachelor’s in philosophy,” Charles mutters. “What I mean is, there are other kinds of affect- strong ones- that might better ground you.” He tilts his head to the side, thinking, and Erik has the stray thought that it’s rather cute. 

Charles refocuses on him then, and Erik flushes, caught out. 

“You know, I believe true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity. Mind if I …?” Charles wiggles his fingers near his temple. 

Erik nods, relieved at once and not entirely sure why. 

The memory of the Chanukah candles, of his mother’s gentle smile and comforting hand on his shoulder, strikes him unawares. It’s an old memory, love and safety and belonging that he hadn’t known he’d felt. A yearning he hasn’t been able to name as anything other than pain.

“What did you just do to me?” Erik swallows, turning to wipe at his eyes. 

When he turns back, Charles is crying as well. He doesn’t look away. “It came from your anger. When you killed Shaw, you thought of him as the creator of monsters, and yourself as one. I’ve thought about it ever since. I think you should know,” he reaches out, fingers brushing Erik’s elbow, “Erik, trust me when I say I’ve felt monsters. Anger that is cruel, sadistic, controlling. I know what evil is, and you are not it. Your anger- it was born out of a desire to protect what you love.” 

Erik pulls away. “I hadn’t known I had that memory.” 

“There’s so much more to you than you allow yourself to know,” Charles replies. “And when you access it, all of it, you’ll possess a power no one can match.” His lips quirk. “Possibly not even me.” 

Erik raises an eyebrow at Charles, then turns to face the dish. He reaches out to feel it, the hum of the magnetism playing through his hands like static. He breathes out, centering the memory, of his mother, his family, tradition that has lasted a thousand years and will last a thousand more. And there is the anger, the determination- that will last a thousand more. That will survive.

The dish begins to turn, and Erik hears Charles laugh, an open burst of joy. He can’t help but join, wild with the burst of his power, their power, with what they can do together. 

*

Charles holds the helmet up with some trepidation, Hank nearly vibrating beside him. 

“Just, make sure the electrodes make contact,” Hank guides the helmet over Charles’ head. Charles breathes out a rush of adrenaline, determined. His hands grip the arms of his chair. 

“What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles,” Erik smirks, hiding the sympathetic anxiety he feels. 

Charles’ eyes cut to the side, eyeing him from beneath the helmet. It’s a familiar expression- measuring, as if trying to figure something out. “Don’t spoil this for me, Erik.” 

Hank throws a series of switches, and Erik can’t help but feel some trepidation at the incredible hum of electricity pouring through the copper wiring to Charles’ helmet. He hopes that Charles can’t sense it. 

“It’s working!” Hank shouts, jumping to look at a series of readings. 

“Charles?” Erik asks, tone more urgent than he’d like. 

Charles lips are parted, and he seems to be looking far away. “Oh,” he places a hand on his chest, and abruptly Erik feels it, that same sensation of a radiating ache he’d felt on his first night in the mansion, when Raven had gone to wake Charles. 

Erik feels some alarm- could Charles be having a heart attack? “Hank, shut it off,” he growls. 

“He should be able to,” Hank stutters, “a hard stop might, it’s connected to his mind. I don’t want to-“

“They think they’re alone,” Charles says, as if he cannot hear them. “The only ones in the world. Their isolation- this young woman in Canada. Her parents are terrified of her. She can’t- oh, you poor thing. You can’t touch anyone.” His brow furrows. “There’s another one- he’s- he’ll help her, I’m certain.” His face falls. “Such terrible grief, for so long. You poor, poor man.” 

“Charles,” Erik snaps.

“Wait,” Charles mutters. “I have to tell him,” he goes silent. 

“Charles, stop. You can tell them later,” Erik feels his heart pounding in his chest at Charles’ glazed look, his knuckles white on the arms of his chair. “I’ll help you, I’ll help you find them, just-“ 

Charles looks up at him. “Yes, alright.” The helmet dims, and Charles slumps back in his chair. He’s smiling, and Erik rushes forward to remove the helmet. Charles looks as exhausted as he had the first day they met, and Erik feels the strong urge to shake him. He places his hands on Charles’ shoulders to do just that, but finds he can’t. Instead, his hands rest there for a long moment as he watches Charles, their faces inches apart. 

“I’ve told him where we are,” Charles breaks the odd tension of the moment. “I think he’ll be more convinced he isn’t hallucinating once he finds the young woman. But he might require some further persuasion. I’ll check in on them tomorrow.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Erik says at once. 

“Whyever not?” Charles frowns. 

“It seemed like,” Erik paused, trying to put a name to his fear, to that terrible feeling Charles had projected. “You were drawn in by something. It was like it took hold of you. Overwhelmed you until you couldn’t let go.” 

Charles waves this away. “I can control it.” 

“Can you?” Erik challenges, voice rising. “Because it seemed like it was the other way around. You said you’ve never felt the limit of your power, but this must be it.” 

“Erik,” Charles has adopted what Erik thinks of as his professor voice, the one he uses with Kurt during their lessons. “I understand my own mind. I’m well aware of what happened, and the problem is not lack of training.” 

“Then what?” Erik demands, unconvinced. 

Charles lifts his chin, and Erik realizes he’s unconsciously been towering over him. “It’s not pertinent to the task at hand.” 

Erik feels stung. “No,” he pokes Charles in the shoulder. “You’ve gone through my mind since the day we met. Pulling out my thoughts, my secrets, my memories,” he punctuates this with another stab of his finger, “always deciding that you know what’s best. Putting yourself on a pedestal, as if I’m another of your children to look after. You stubborn fool.” 

“What?” Charles laughs, brow furrowing. 

“Hank,” Erik turns to the scientist, who froze in place at the beginning of the confrontation, “could you give us a moment?” 

Hank nods and hurries quickly out of the lab. Erik watches him go. 

“Charles, I think you forget sometimes that you’re not the only perceptive individual in the world.” 

Charles flushes. “That’s hardly fair-“ 

“The connection goes both ways,” Erik cuts him off. “When you brought forward that memory of my mother,” he swallows, “I felt you pulling it from within yourself. You had to be able to recognize it. To understand what you were looking for.” He points to the helmet. “Cerebro only amplifies your power. You choose how you channel it.” He looks at Charles, who looks startled. It offends Erik, somewhat. “You found in those mutants what you projected.”

“Very Freudian of you, Erik,” Charles smiles, and Erik feels furious at this calm, amused refusal to engage. 

Erik turns abruptly to leave, unwilling to have be shot down in this way, after everything he’s shared. Every way in which he’s trusted Charles, a trust it seems Charles will not return. 

“Wait,” Charles calls. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looks lost, uncertain of himself, and Erik realizes he’s never seen Charles anything but composed, smiling, occasionally annoyed. 

Erik crosses his arms over his chest and waits. 

“I didn’t mean to be glib. I’m just,” he sighs. “I’m afraid you’ve found one of my faults. I’m really terrible at these sorts of admissions, so I usually attempt to deflect. I struck out and pretended you were being foolish. I ought to know better.” 

“I’ve lived all my life knowing what it feels like to be hunted,” Erik replies. “I’ve lived with that even in the decade I hunted Shaw. Since coming here, I’ve woken every morning with whispers that tell me we are not safe. But I’ve known that my entire life, and I haven’t felt this kind of fear.” He looks at Charles, and once he sees the chagrin he feels certain. “Because it’s not my fear, is it? It’s yours.” 

Charles looks away. “I wondered,” he says. “I’d hoped it had been a few isolated incidents. I spoke with Raven about it, but she hadn’t felt anything- not like when we were young. When I had less mastery over my telepathy.” He leans his forehead into his hand, elbow propped on the armrest and fingers at his temple. “I think it must be because you found me first. You freed me. And my mind must have latched on to the first person it found.” 

“Charles,” Erik says, more gently than he’s accustomed to being. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Find help you can trust.” 

“I know what I need to do,” Charles snaps. “I studied this, remember? It’s just- horribly embarrassing, and I’m a terrible patient. And I’ve taken it out on you again, haven’t I?” Charles grimaces. 

Fine. Erik prefers his default tactics anyway. “You are a terrible patient. But like it or not, it’s my turn to help you. You’ve already agreed I’m right.” 

“Erik, I don’t know if I can,” Charles gestures broadly. “I wouldn’t know how to explain.” 

Erik pulls over a stool to sit beside Charles. He takes his hand in his, and brings Charles’ fingers up to his temple. “Can you show me?” 

Charles hesitates, and Erik can feel the echo of it. 

“Charles, remember when you accused me of condescension?” Erik gives him a look. “I assure you, I’ve hardly led a sheltered life.” 

“My friend, you know as well as I do that suffering does not end at some arbitrary absolute.” _I’d rather have spared you any more._

Erik feels the ache spreading through his chest, down through his limbs. Heavy, unmoored. He’s always measured his body in proximity to others. His mind, his thoughts. He’s not sure where he begins. He’s alone, truly alone for the first time in his life. Four steel walls and the buckle of the helmet digging under his chin. No light, no sound except his disembodied breaths. 

He scratches idly into his wrists to remind him of himself. He thinks he might be going mad. 

He has nothing to do in these long hours but remember. It seems ironic to beg for the voices to return. He remembers how they started. How he desperately tried to hide it, but he couldn’t pull himself away, got swept into the tide until he screamed and screamed-

_Paranoid schizophrenia. Terrible diagnosis for a boy so young._

The medication didn’t work. It just made time blur, his body, his mind, until he had no sense of self, no will- 

How long has he been here? How long will Shaw keep him? How long until he-

He frightened the nurses. He knew things he shouldn’t. He clung to this thought, to their reactions- measurable, observable data. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t mad! 

This upset the doctor. Charles saw it in his mind, an alternative treatment, several of his colleagues had recommended it: the long, sharp metal probe through the eye socket- 

He tried to run, but he was small, weak, drugged into compliance-

It had been one of Shaw’s first ideas, before he’d realized Charles’ power could be transferred through touch. _It’s shown promise, thousands of American doctors have noted that it made their patients easier to manage. A fairly simple procedure, less complicated than any others Shaw has been considering since Xavier’s noncompliance became apparent. If Xavier fought him less, just imagine what they could do, together-_

One desperate push, the last Charles managed before he attempted escape, and Shaw began wearing the thick gloves: _No, better to try the other operations first. Preserve mental function. Better than taking the chance that lobotomy might affect Xavier’s power._

He reaches out and feels nothing. It’s as if the apocalypse has happened, and he is the last man on earth. He’s gotten so used to the thoughts, being surrounded by them, monitoring for trouble, feeling the occasional burst of joy like butterfly’s wings. The constant background hum. He’s empty of it, the silence deafening. It’s more than a lost sense. It’s a depersonalization, no connection to the world around him, to himself. He isn’t real. He’s so far away.

The hated metal door crashing into the hallway. Seeing Erik is enough to ground him. Erik’s touch, the first touch in so long, his mind an anchor. His arm around Charles’ waist is steady, his mind focused enough for Charles to collect his. His will is so strong. This may be the first time he’s sensed a mutant this powerful. 

Not alone, he thinks for the second time in his life. He’s not alone. 

Erik feels himself being pulled from the swirl of memories, back to the room. Hank’s equipment is blinking softly behind them. 

“Erik?” Charles looks concerned, and Erik leans in. 

Charles is giving him that look again, watchful, waiting. 

Erik places his hand on Charles’ shoulder. It’s tentative, awkward. He’s never quite learned how to do this, to give comfort. He drops his hand after only a few silent seconds. 

Charles smiles. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“What they do to us,” Erik begins haltingly. “It can’t continue. You and I- we’re strong enough to end it.” He looks out into the hall, and thinks about the children sleeping in their beds. Their children, theirs to protect.

“Yes,” Charles agrees, his eyes meeting Erik’s. He looks tired, but there’s a sharpness there. An intelligence nearly cut and beaten out of him. “I have hope for them. For the world they might live in.” 

Erik smiles, all teeth. “We will bring them hope, my friend.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally capping this one off to get it off my docket. figured it was better than leaving it unfinished? sorry if it's a bit slapdash
> 
> Took me some time to edit formatting- which, relatedly, if anyone wants to volunteer to beta fic for me it would get published much faster and I would have less migraines. I have conversion software that occasionally fucks up the formatting so I have to do things like edit quotation marks. let me know if anything is still messed up.

The days are short and cold, the sun setting by four in the afternoon and wall sconces creating soft yellow pools of light in the mansion's few occupied rooms. Between them are swaths of darkness that frighten the children; the entire west wing of the mansion is unoccupied, covered in white draperies and cobwebs.

Routine has begun to settle in the mansion, or the Institute as Charles likes to remind Erik, as if he hadn't created the sign at the wrought iron gates himself. This is mostly thanks to Charles, who spends his days looking after the children, his evenings shut in his study piecing together curricula, and some late nights in Cerebro, searching for any mention of those who might have known of Shaw' s work, who might have continued it.

Erik tries to head him off and distract him every other night or so, coming down to the study for some brandy and a game of chess. Tonight, the study is dark and empty. He takes the newly installed elevator down into the depths of the mansion, past the bunker and into Hank's lab. It and Cerebro are similarly empty and dark, with only the soft flicker of LEDs on humming electrical panels. The hum in the air disquiets him with its disruption of the otherwise quiet grounds, so far from the city with its bright charge of millions of yards of copper wiring.

Charles' bedroom door is open, and he is not inside. Erik pauses there for a moment. It's possible he missed Charles heading towards the study, but he traces his way to the corridor with the children's rooms instead.

Kitty's door is open, and Erik can feel Charles' wheelchair inside. He hadn't thought to track it in the first place because he could feel it was cold, empty. This makes sense, however, when he find Charles perched on the edge of Kitty' s bed, a children's book in hand and moving his eyebrows animatedly.

“We must stop eating! Cried Toad as he ate another," Charles smiles at Kitty's giggle, then pauses and turns to look at Erik. Erik gives him a nod, and Charles turns back to continue through the rest of the paragraph, then leans up to briefly stroke Kitty's hair.

"Are you alright to go to sleep now, darling?" Charles asks, setting the book on her nightstand.

Kitty nods and leans up for a hug, which seems to briefly take Charles by surprise, but that he accepts. Kitty is the youngest of the children, and has had frequent nightmares since leaving Shaw. She has a tendency to phase between walls when she is frightened, but Charles is always able to draw her out and distract her.

Charles transfers to his wheelchair with a grace he has just begun to learn after a few mishaps of forgotten brakes. He starts speaking about potential changes to the grounds before they've even gotten to the study, occasionally alternating pushing with one hand so he can gesture.

“I know I'm a soft touch, but I do think that a horse might be therapeutic. I 've told them they must clean out the barn first, of course, and we'll likely start with a barn cat and see if they can prove they can take care of an animal-“

"There are stables on the grounds?" Erik interrupts.

''Of course," Charles says in his best pompous tone, biting back a smile. "The Xavier holdings could hardly be called an estate without a riding stable."

Erik huffs and resets the chessboard to start a game just as Charles gives a jaw— cracking yawn.

"Perhaps we ought to play tomorrow night," Erik pauses, but Charles makes a face and goes for the brandy.

"Absolutely not," he locks his chair and walks over to the large plush chair beside the chessboard. "I've been talking to children all day. I could use a conversation that I don't have to censor myself in every bloody minute."

The chessboard sits untouched between them as they drink. Charles lets out a long sigh and slumps back in the chair, eyes half-lidded as he looks across the table at Erik.

“You're staring, Charles says suddenly.

"Hm?”

"You're staring at me. Whatever are you thinking?" Charles' gaze is sharp, despite his relaxed posture.

"Don't you know?" Erik raises an eyebrow, hiding his expression behind his glass. He feels a warm flush all over as Charles leans towards him, over the chessboard. The brandy, unsurprisingly, is very good, and perhaps a bit stronger than Erik anticipated.

"I do,” Charles says. This close, Erik can see his eyes are very blue; there are hints of lines at the corners of his eyes. He looks tired.

“What am I thinking, then?" Erik smiles, thinking idly of a number between 1 and 10. Charles' lips are slightly chapped from the cold.

Charles rolls his eyes, not deigning to answer the cheap parlor trick, and places his palms on the chessboard. Erik has barely a second to wonder what he is doing before Charles leans forward and kisses him.

Erik can feel his breath catch in his throat; for a long moment he is so stunned that he does not move. Then his brain catches up with his body, and he gives Charles a shove that sends him stumbling awkwardly back into the chair.

“What?” Charles stares at him, his look of surprise turning quickly to wariness as he rights himself. Thrown off—balance, Erik thinks.

"Are you alright?" Erik asks before he can fully process his own words. His mind is drawing a blank, attempting and failing to process as Charles readjusts his body so that he is sitting upright.

“I'm sorry," Charles says, brow furrowing. “ I think I must have misunderstood”

"Yes," Erik grasps for words. "Was it- what were you-“

Charles sighs, running a hand over his face, and Erik thinks he looks even more tired than he first observed.

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” Charles doesn't look him in the eye. “I forget, sometimes, that you haven't actually known me very long. At least, not before all of this." He gestures broadly to the house, to his chair. "I had quite the reputation beforehand. Mostly as a womanizer, but Raven just called me a whore.” The corner of his lips twitches up, then falls. "It's been my preferred means of coping with stress. I thought,” he frowns, and Erik can feel the brush against his mind. "Wishful thinking, perhaps. I apologize.”

Charles is still looking at him. Puzzled, Erik thinks. Not quite contrite, despite his words.

"Are you angry with me?" Charles asks.

Erik shakes his head.

"You really aren't, are you?" Charles tilts his head, interested. Erik has the stray thought that it's an appealing gesture. "Most latents I hit on consider it necessary to prove to me just how wrong I am.”

Erik can feel something unspooling in the back of his mind, a memory that he has not thought of for a long time, his only memory of men who used other men like this. He tries to catch it, wind it back before Charles sees.

Charles goes pale. It seems the more Erik tries to not think of the memory, the clearer it becomes.

"Oh, Erik," Charles' tone is heavy, and he reaches a hand out towards him.

Erik reacts before he can think about it, all the metal in the room singing to his will. An iron poker flies from the fireplace to hover between them.

''Stop," Erik bites out.

Charles leans back immediately, palms out. "I’m not doing anything, Erik." His tone is too gentle, like he's forgotten how many men Erik has murdered in cold blood. But, of course, he doesn't have to worry; Erik could be his puppet with a thought. The power Charles possesses, that has seemed so exciting when Erik contemplates how it might be used to give their kind a fighting chance, once again unsettles him. How could he have forgotten the danger of being weak?

"How old were you when you witnessed that?" Charles asks.

"Old enough," Erik replies, watching him. Old enough to have witnessed a great deal more, he thinks. Old enough to understand.

“I'm not sure you were," Charles looks sad, and Erik feels a vicious stab of anger, then, wanting it to be fear.

Charles' lips twitch in a wry smile, as if he's heard the thought. "It's there in your mind. Organized. Rigid. I've never seen another quite like it. Every part of you is so colored by weaponization. Even this. You think of it as,” Charles puts one hand down on the chessboard, then the other. "Weak or strong. Domination or extinction. Dichotomies. But those are Shaw's words, Erik. They don't have to be yours."

"Don't tell me who I am," Erik bites out. “My mind is my own. No one else's.”

"But you believe him, can't you see?" Charles' pitch rises as he leans forward yet again, ignoring the weapon pointing towards him. "You think all that shite, survival of the fittest-“

"How could I not?" Erik challenges. "With everything— how can you not see it?"

“I am a geneticist," Charles reminds him, huffing. "Social cooperation was the key to our evolution as a species. Apes can perform cognitive tasks nearly as well as-“

“I may not have your laurels,” Erik says dryly, "but it's clear to me that you're a bit biased." Erik gestures around the decadent room.

“You think I'm naive , Charles pushes the poker away from himself, and Erik lets it go. "Fine. But, Erik-“

Erik raises a hand, cutting him off. "Convince me of humanity's innate goodness another day." He stands, careful not to disturb the pieces on the board.

Charles frowns. “I hardly think innate goodness' characterizes-“

Erik sighs. "Must you always have the last word?"

Charles pauses, caught out. "No. But-“ He winces, laughs at himself. “Goodnight, Erik.”

“Goodnight, Charles.”

*

Are you sure?" Erik whispers lowly in Charles' ear, throwing a suspicious glance towards Hank.

Hank gives them a thumbs—up sign, then hurriedly looks away from Erik's glare. "Uh, ready when you are, Professor!”

"How is it that you're Professor X and I'm just Erik," Erik grumbles, too quietly for Hank to hear. 

Charles laughs. "Don't be too jealous, my friend. As you pointed out the other night, I have a tendency to lecture." He runs a thumb over the edge of the helmet, contemplative . "Sometimes I lose sight of the fact that I can be wrong. That I could stand to listen, every once and a while.” 

Erik's brows shoot up. “Oh?” 

Charles shrugs, lifts the helmet from its cradle and places it on his lap. “I thought about what you'd said, after you left. I had so many well-reasoned retorts prepared," he smiles down at his fingers. "But while I maintain that it would be difficult for a person with my ability to be quite so naive as you think, it is true that before what I experienced was all very distant. My run-in with psychiatry notwithstanding, I hadn't experienced deprivation, or intentional cruelty. Misguided harm under the guise of assistance is, I think, different than a casual disregard for one's humanity. I was arrogant, before all this, to believe that experiencing cruelty secondhand is comparable to experiencing it yourself. How it can destroy what you fundamentally believe to be true about the world. How you might need a different framework to survive.”

Erik nods silently.

Charles sighs. “I think I’ve been lying to myself. I haven’t believed in,” Charles’ lips twitch, “innate goodness for quite some time. But I think part of me has been worried that the other side of the dichotomy might be true, that we’re born fallen. That I’d been too naïve to understand how fundamentally cruel others are. Thankfully, I’m still arrogant enough to reject that division. I have too many examples that contradict such an easy separation.” He looks up at Erik meaningfully. 

"Um, Professor?" Hank calls from Cerebro’s entrance, finger on the switch. "Should I?”

"Sorry, Hank!” Charles calls, lifting the helmet from his lap. Erik takes a step back.

Charles puts the helmet on as Erik and Hank hover, twitching in unison when Charles gasps, hands clutching at his arm rests.

Charles chuckles as the room flares with light. “So little faith, my friends. Right,” his brow furrows in concentration, and the pinpricks of light coalescing on metal walls shift, fading away until only a few thousand are left. "These are the mutants, yes?" 

From the doorway they hear the slide and click of a carrier motor, the rapid banging of typewriter keys.

"Yes!” Hank shouts, excited.

"How do you track them?" Erik says, staring up at the metal walls. know you're conducting something, but—I' his brow furrows as he reaches into the metal, careful not to alter it, only to ride the signal.

"That's more Hank's area than mine,” Charles admits. “I do know he's been following my research on genetic markers, and constitutionally-“

"The X gene?" Erik asks.

Charles winces. “I coined it as the X genes, but I think I 've rather lost control over it now. It's clearly heterogeneous with expression largely determined by environmental interaction, and there may be de novo mutations we haven't even mapped yet-“

Erik places a hand on his shoulder. "It's incredible. Terrifying, but,” he looks up at the screen in wonder. “If it were going to be in anyone's hands, I'd want them to be ours."

“I agree," Charles says softly. “I think we should only tell those who need to know. I 'm not so naive that I can't imagine how this might be used."

“It's good that it's made of metal," Erik reflects. “If we 're invaded, I can crush it fairly easily."

Charles laughs, hitting a switch on the panel and removing the helmet, running a hand through his hair. He smiles up at Erik. “Of course.”

They stare at one another for a moment, Erik's hand still resting on Charles' shoulder, both flushed with success.

"I'm going to go make sense of these readings,” Hank calls.

"Be there in a moment,” Charles calls, shaking his head when Erik jumps away and clears a path for him.

''I think you ought to choose a name for yourself,” Charles wheels toward him. "Like the children have done. You could be. . . the Master of Metal.”

"Magnetism," Erik corrects immediately.

“What?”

“I’m the Master of Magnetism, not metal," Erik insists, then looks back at Charles' chuckle.” What?”

“I wasn't being serious," Charles laughs.

“I was," Erik raises an eyebrow, then keeps walking. "You just want the cool names all to yourself.”

Charles rolls his eyes. "Fine. But you can't in all seriousness ask others to call you the Master of Magnetism.”

"Magneto,” Erik says.

"That's absurd," Charles counters as they enter the lab.

“I like it," Hank says. "Better than the one they picked for me. Might as well get ahead of them.”

Erik gives Charles a look, as if to say, "See?"

“I concede,” Charles shakes his head, braking at the edge of a large table covered in maps. "What's our first location? It should be fairly nearby."  
They argue for the rest of the day about which points to go after first, what exactly they are recruiting for, whether they should be recruiting at this stage at all or merely observing, and devolve into an argument about the school's purpose.

It's late when they finally end up in the study, too tired to do anything but drink and sit on the couch in silence. Charles tips his head back over the edge of the couch, complaining of a headache, and Erik watches him, looks at the pale column of his throat then looks quickly away. Charles smirks.

"You really think this is something you can just have," Erik says, making himself meet Charles' eyes. He thinks of running a finger down the line of Charles throat, like he would already have done had Charles been a woman.

''I know I can," Charles looks at him. "They don't call it Oxford style for nothing." He shakes his head. "And you already know I can. What bothers you is that I enjoy it."

"Not exactly," Erik says, but he doesn't move.

"Mm. Hold on," Charles says, wincing as he sits up and pulls himself to standing, making his way to a bookshelf a few feet away. “I think— ha," he pulls a book from the shelf and sits back on the couch with a sigh, leafing through it.

Erik leans over, peering at the pages, and Charles pushes him away.

"Allen Ginsberg, when defending the inclusion of Walt Whitman's poetry to a judge, said that as a part of our human nature," Charles began.

Erik grumbles, but Charles only smiles.

"As a part of our human nature, we have many loves, many of which we are denied, many of which we deny ourselves. And he said that Whitman believed that unless there was an infusion of tenderness, of fearlessness, of natural delight in each other's bodies, into the hardened, materialistic, cynical, life-denying, clearly competitive, afraid, scared, armored bodies, there would be no chance for spiritual democracy to take place in America. That men could work together not as competitive beasts but as tender lovers and fellows.” Charles looks up at Erik, who is smiling.

"You're reading me poetry, Charles? How often does that work for you?”

"I’ll tell you in the morning," Charles grins, then covers his mouth as he starts to laugh. "More often than my pickup lines, I’ll admit."

"Hmm," Erik reaches out to run the backs of his knuckles down Charles' cheek, lets his fingers trail down the side of his neck as Charles goes very still. He wraps his fingers around the back of Charles' neck, pausing to stroke the short hairs at the base of his skull, and projects an image of himself pushing Charles down into the couch, covering his body with his own.

Charles breathes out sharply, and Erik grins with too much teeth, letting his hand drop. "Goodnight, Charles.”

Charles shakes his head. "For now.”

Erik stands, and does not look back. "I could never deprive you of the last word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JSYK, I learned over the course of this fic that it is very difficult to get a wheelchair (in the US, at least); Charles' money and on-site engineer means this is different for him, and the traumatic nature of his accident means that I still think his form of internalized ableism is plausible in this fic, but everyone should know that wheelchairs are a source of freedom and mobility for ppl who need them~~ 
> 
>  
> 
> also the full speech from allen Ginsberg is fun if you ever want to read it


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